Jak and Daxter Lost and found
by Silverspegel
Summary: I wanted to find out just how Errol and Praxis really came to know Jak's name, since the dude doesn't speak for the entire first game I'm thinking something really tough must have been done to make him use the voice he has. I wrote this long ago. Enjoy!


**LOST AND FOUND**

I'm still dreaming of the warm sand on the beach of my childhood years.

I can still feel the gentle breeze of ocean air upon my face when I close my eyes. But I'm starting to forget, and that's what scares me.

I first realised my memory was failing me when I couldn't recall the exact colour of the flowers outside my bedroom window back at my uncles house.

After that I tried to cling to every part of my memory that was left of a place where I felt safe.

But every day I lost something new. The name of one of the villagers. The shape of my favourite sitting rock by the water. The feeling of grass between my toes. All in all little things of no real importance, but it meant everything to me when I realised I couldn't remember it. It still does.

I want to remember everything that was good in my life and everything that still is. My family and my closest friends. Moments when I laughed and smiled without a single worry in my mind other than what I was going to do in order to have fun the next day.

I still have those moments saved up inside my memory and I try hard not to lose them with the rest of it. But every day spent away from the origin of those memories they get ever more distant to me.

Most of the time I'm having trouble to recall whether the things I remember actually happened or if I made them up in dreams, trying desperately to keep my senses intact with the mere wish for good things to have happened.

I know I never should have touched that red button back then.

I knew it the very moment I saw the gate getting activated. What I still don't get is why I pushed the cursed thing again! I tried to stop the bad things from happening, yes, but I only made it worse.

Then it was too late to change it. I had only to hold on as hard as I could and hope for the ride to end well. But the machine was too old and rusty to begin with, even after a thorough renovation by Keira, and as it started to fall apart I was paralyzed by the fear of what might happen.

As we all fell out in the whirlwind of the travelspace when the machine finally fell apart completely, it was mere luck I still hung on to the same piece of metal pipe as Daxter. Because of that, at least I wasn't alone when I landed.

I'm sure my uncle tried to tell me something right before he vanished in the blue swirls, but I can't figure out what, 'cause I don't think I was even able to hear anything but Daxters screaming.

Daxter. It aches to think of him.

I miss him terribly and I can't help but thinking of what might have happened to him during all this time that we've been apart.

I can't really tell one day from another in this eternally dark place, but I know it's been a very long time.

There're no windows in the cells I've been put in, I haven't seen the sun since they took me here, and I haven't seen the moon or the starts either since. But time has passed.

A lot of time.

I just hope Daxter got away safe and sound. He's small enough to be able to disappear in a crowd and avoid discovery by the guards. I don't even think they're looking for him. They probably only see him as a mere animal, a pet maybe, and I sure hope it stays that way.

I wouldn't want him to end up in here with me. No matter how much I miss him, I'd rather imagine him safe than knowing he's not. As long as him being with me means he'll be in here, in this darkness and pain, I rather stay lonely.

But I sure miss him.

Ever since the first day we met we've been practically inseparable, parted only by my uncle at bedtime.

I still remember the first day a little fuzzy. I don't know why, but somehow I managed to wander off from my pretty overprotective uncle one day. I remember seeing the wide ocean before me and this feeling of pure amazement that filled me as I saw this never ending pool of crystal blue water lined with the white warm sand of the beach.

That was when I met Daxter.

Back then he was a scrawny looking boy with a thick bush of bright red hair on his head, looking just a little misplaced as he slowly came walking towards me in knee high water, drenched from top to toe. As soon as he saw me he started smiling, and began talking to me.

Daxter used to have those big front teeth, which gave his talking this slight lisp, something which caught my attention right away.

I don't remember what it was that he said, those first words of conversation he tried on me, but I remember feeling happy and all warm inside as he took my hand and pulled me with him to play in the sand.

I think Dax is the only one, apart from my uncle and Keira, of course, who's never been bothered by the fact that I didn't speak.

I've never uttered a word to them or anyone at all as far as I can remember, and with them, it's never been a problem either.

I manage to get by anyway, without words.

But to be honest, the only one who really understands me, who knows exactly what I mean without asking for help to understand me, is Daxter.

He's always understood my silent communication perfectly, and talked to the others in my stead, saying what I wanted to say, telling me I could trust him to be with me forever. He never left me, not even after that fateful day I managed to get him to come with me on an adventure trip to Misty Island.

Not even then, after being changed so dramatically into the orange furry little animal he still is.

Sure, he was mad to begin with. He cursed not just me for being the one responsible for it happening, but the whole island and the precursors too. Sometime on the ride back to Sandover he calmed down though, and never mentioned my part in this again. He just stayed with me as I tried to find a way to get him back to normal.

Even now, as I try to remember everything that's happened since he became small enough to stand on my shoulderguard, I still can't forgive myself for ever making him come with me to that island.

I can't help but wondering where we'd be right now if we had simply heeded my uncle's warnings and stayed at home that day. Would we still have found the machine that took us to this place, where ever it may be, or would we still be in Sandover?

I try not to think about it too much though. It hurts to think of all the possibilities lost and I have enough pain harboured in my body as it is to not want it invading my mind as well.

But I sure miss him.

------------

"Get up, you filthy little creep!"

A hard kick in my stomach is what wakes me up.

As I try to breathe I force my eyes open in order to avoid further reprimands.

The dull red metal of the guard's armour glows in the green light coming from outside the cell.

When he sees that I'm awake, he gives a silent order to one of his colleagues standing behind me and in the next moment I'm being forced to stand up and once on my feet, they start shoving me forward, out of the cell and through the poorly lit corridor.

I keep quiet, even though the aching in the middle parts of my body is still painful enough to make me walk a bit hunched, bent over the beginning bruise, so as not to scream out loud. 'Cause even though I don't speak, I do have a voice.

I can scream.

I haven't done it much though, until I got here.

Now I can't scream enough.

But they like the screaming, so I try not to. Try and fail.

It's hard not to scream when it feels as though your body is being savagely ripped apart into thousand pieces and then put back together in the wrong manner.

The worst thing about it isn't the pain and the things they do to me, though. It's the fact that I still don't know _why_ they're doing it to me. I don't know why I'm here, why and how they knew where and when to find me and why they wanted to find me.

Those are the main questions I wish to ask them, every time they come to take me to yet another one of those sessions of torture.

But I still don't ask. I still can't find the voice or the words to use for the simple act of speaking and I don't think it would matter if I did.

So I keep quiet in between the screams. There's just not enough reason to utter any words at all. Words won't get me outside these dark grey walls or back to Sandover and my friends.

"Get in there!" The guard in front of me steps aside and the one behind me shoves me inside the new room.

I manage to catch myself on my hands when I fall, and as quickly as possible I make it back on my feet and turn around to face them both.

I really don't know why I keep trying this, but I do. I see a small glimmer of a chance to escape and I decide to try it. They get me every time.

This time it ends with a hard bang on the back of my head and so I'm back on the floor again. Adding this new pain in my head to the dull persisting aching in my stomach, I silently grunt as I pull myself back up on my feet.

"Don't try anything like that again, pal," one of the guards says with a voice revealing a slight upwards movement of the corners of his mouth. "You keep on doing this you'll end up being turned into dog food as slowly as possible. And we don't want that now, do we?"

I shake my head slowly as so I won't to upset it with the movement. The guard nods in agreement and, using his weapon, he motions for me to keep going forward. I turn around and do as I'm told, surrendering for the moment.

When I start to turn to get to the usual room, I'm stopped by a brute movement from one of the guards.

"Not today. Keep on going."

Surprised, but not relieved, I do as I'm told and walk straight forward in the corridor until they motion me through another door.

This time I look up and I have to really focus on not showing what I feel. The room is huge and packed with all sorts of machines, none of them looking even slightly nice.

I must have stopped 'cause suddenly I feel the unfriendly part of the guard's gun pointed at my back.

"Keep moving."

The order is simple enough and since I still feel the results of my last try for escape, I obey.

I'm being forced out to the middle of the room, onto a platform of some sort, where a single straining chair stands as the bull's eye spot for all of the horrible looking machinery in the room.

I'm getting the feeling that things just got worse than before.

And I'm right.

Coming up to the platform where I'm being held, there's a red-haired man in a yellow and blue suit. I vaguely remember him from the day I was brought here. I think he was the one ordering my imprisonment here.

Great.

"My, my, what do we have here?" the new man muses and shows a smile that sends shivers down my spine.

"Isn't it the mute boy?"

He stops within arms length from me and bends forward a bit so that his face comes down to my height.

"Seems like you've grown a bit since last time I saw you", he continues his monologue and looks at me for some sort of response.

But I really don't feel like pleasing him, so I stay silent as usual and keep my face as clear of emotions as I can manage.

Obviously this isn't the response he was looking for.

Before I have the time to react, his fist hits me across my chin and I can swear I see stars before my eyes in a second or two, before my vision clears again.

Impressively enough I don't even groan at the pain soaring through my entire head after the hit.

I guess I was just too surprised by it to catch up with the reaction.

No matter the reason, this does get him a bit agitated. He turns to the guards and starts asking about the former sessions they've taken me to. I don't bother to pay any attention to what's being said, I know the story anyway. Besides, the pain in my jaw is starting to really annoy me.

"So, still no words from him?"

I suddenly hear a change in his voice that doesn't bode well and I try to listen harder.

"No, Errol, sir", the guard answer shortly. "Just some screaming in the beginning sir. After a while he even stopped screaming, no matter what was done to him."

"Well", Errol says and turns his eyes once more towards me and I stare right back at him, hoping he won't notice my fear.

"I'm sure you haven't tried _everything_ on him. I bet there's a way to make him talk, and once that's done, I think he'll be just about ready for the job the baron wants him to do." He turns around and walks over to the chair. "Put him on this and make sure he can't get away from it."

I try to fight it. I try really hard not to get strapped onto that horrible device they want to place me on, but it's useless.

I haven't eaten anything since what I believe was yesterday and my entire body is aching from the hits I've been taking since they woke me up today. I'm weak and they are two against my one. So, I end up getting undeniably fixed on the spot by the metal restraints of the chair.

A loud, crispy tune sounds through the room and then comes the raspy sound of a speaker being turned on.

"Good. Now boys, please step away from the platform. You don't want to be standing too close now, trust me."

The guards seem to trust the insurance of Errol's voice in the speaker and they hastily move away to the far end of the room.

I try hard not to think of the machines above me that are set into motion and pull as hard as I can against the restraints to find even the slightest possibility to escape whatever might be expected to come out of the use of those machines.

I try even though I know it's useless. I

've never been able to break metal before and I don't think I ever will be able to either. But I hate to give up the small sliver of hope that I can manufacture, even if it's not really there.

I can hear Errol snickering in the speakers as the machine straight above me starts humming and move faster. It doesn't look very nice. It's like I'm an ant looking at a mechanical drill slowly coming closer.

I don't like it at all.

"Now let's see what you're made of, shall we?" Errol says softly and I don't need to see him where he sits, somewhere on a safe distance to whatever is going to happen, in order to know that he enjoys this.

"Now this may sting a little…"

The machine's humming suddenly stops and then an opening is seen in the middle of the thing looking like a giant drill.

A purple-black light is suddenly starting to appear in that small opening and I feel all my limbs go numb the second I realize why the colour seems so familiar.

Dark eco.

And then it hits me that I can't move away, a thought that starts sending an unusual feeling of panic into my every limb.

Suddenly a beam of that dark light shoots out from the machine and hits me, straight in the chest, with a shock of pain that takes my breath away in an instant.

I want to scream but I can't find air enough to force the sound across my lips.

And then all turns dark and I fall into the welcome warmth of unconsciousness.

-------------

When I come to my senses again I feel like I've been crushed under a big rock and then used as a beating toy for one hell of a mean lurker.

At first I can't remember the reason for this painful wakeup.

But as I slowly get out of the dizzy slumber I start feeling the iron strainers around my wrists and my memory comes back within the instant that I force my eyes open in order to look at what's holding me down.

The first thing that comes clear in front of my eyes is the face of my new tormenter.

Errol looks at me with a slightly surprised expression on his tattooed face and then he smiles like a cat watching a hurt mouse.

I really don't like this guy.

"Feeling a little shaken up are we?" he says, not even waiting for an answer before he continues.

"Now, we can do this in so many ways, hard or easy, it's your choice boy. But I mean to make you talk, and I tell you, I can go on a lot longer than you in this situation. Don't you think so too?"

He glances in my direction, but as I don't move at all, he keeps up the monologue.

"But I'll start out easy on you, just because you have such a pretty face."

He looks for some kind of reaction from me, but I couldn't move a single muscle even if I wanted to. The shock and pain from his "treatment" has somehow paralysed my body and all I can do is to stare at him. But I think he sees how I feel, 'cause he smiles even wider.

"Now, I can use this machine as many times as I may find it proper and I assure you that I know how to make you feel even worse than you're feeling now. I'll just boost the power of the beam a little. And I will do so if you don't do as I tell you, you hear me, boy? So you better start using that voice of yours for something else than just screaming. Baron Praxis doesn't want a mute, he needs someone who'll communicate both ways. If you can't do that, then I guess I'll just have to finish you off my self in the end."

While he's been talking, the two guards that brought me in has moved up onto the platform where the chair I'm lying on stands.

Apparently he's given them some kind of order to do so earlier, 'cause as he turns around to face them, one of them hands him a very long knife of some sort.

The other one walks up behind me and checks the restraints on my wrists and then he does the same thing with the ones around my ankles. My head is getting clearer by the second, but I still can't do much but watching and listening.

A sudden motion to my left catches my attention and I sluggishly turn my head to see what it is.

"I'm gonna' give you a chance to do this without further use of the dark stuff, OK?" Errol says and holds up the long knife in front of my eyes so that I can have a good look at it.

But the knife isn't a new thing to me.

During the time I've spent in this prison of sorts, I've been getting real familiar with all sorts of sharp objects wanting to go through my skin. Needles, knives, scalpels – you name it.

I guess I should be happy that they still haven't touched any extra sensitive skin. Parts of my body, like my hands or my face, are still pretty much untouched, if I don't count the beating of my chin, jaw and nose.

But really, I can't see why I should feel happy at all. This guy in front of me now doesn't seem to be the kind of guy who thinks twice about doing something unpleasant, no matter the victim.

"I wonder," Errol starts and gets him self as close to me as possible," what is you name, pretty boy?"

I don't have time to react to his question before the sharp point of the blade he's holding is pressed against my bare chest, re-opening a fresh wound from not so long ago.

Somehow I haven't noticed until now that my upper body has been bared. The sleeveless shirt I've been getting accustomed to wearing in this place is missing, probably taken off of me while I was still unconscious.

The tip of the sharp metal is pressed a bit further in, not severing the skin alone anymore, but some of my chest muscle as well.

It stings something fierce and I can't help but letting out a low outcry of complaint over the sensation.

Errol keeps smiling and slowly he drags the knife downwards, across my chest and then my stomach.

On the way down he tears up a couple of healed scars and other, not so old, wounds and I once more give in to the urge to scream out, although I don't let much sound above a whispered whimpering get across my lips. But he hears it.

He pulls out the knife with a quick twist of his hand and gives it back to the guard who brought it and walks up to my face. Bending down so he can whisper in my ear, he slowly says; "Sorry, boy. Wrong answer."

I can feel the warm blood seeping through the wound he's made and suddenly the panic I only caught a glimpse of earlier fills me up completely, as I see him walk back towards the place from which he controls the machine containing the dark eco.

The guards make haste to get away from the platform and soon the machine starts humming.

I try to find a way to escape; I search my mind for some sort of solution and all I can think of is to do what he asked me to.

And I can't.

I try to shape my mouth around the one word he asked me to pronounce, but I can't press forth even the tiniest sound.

The panic rising inside seems to block out anything I could possibly produce to save myself from the awaiting torment, and for the first time in my life, I feel true fear for what lies ahead of me.

This time, as the beam of darkness hits me, the pain is increased by the open wound into which the eco hungrily eats away. And as I open my mouth wide with the pain of my very blood boiling with the poisonous intruding material, I let out a scream that drains me of all energy that is left in me.

I know, that from this moment on, I am no longer going to be able to fool myself with the false hope of getting out of this place alive. The moment I manage to finish this thought the black pool of unconsciousness is once again taking me into its embrace and I welcome it.

---------------

I don't know for how long I've been out, but when I finally come to, I hurt all over and my first reaction is to turn over and throw up.

I empty my stomach on the grey stone floor of my cell, feeling the sting of acid in my throat.

I can barely hold myself up on my arms, but I manage to get away from the unclean spot and sit up with my back against a wall just as cold and hard as the floor.

My head is spinning something fierce and I can't seem to focus my eyes on anything, so I close them and concentrate on breathing deeply for a moment.

Someone has cared for my wounds while I was out.

A tight bandage is covering my chest beneath the shirt. Just like so many times before, they've shown me they intend to keep me alive for as long as possible.

A thought flickers by in a moment of deep depression and I actually find the option to end it all myself tempting.

But then I come to think of Daxter again.

Being left all alone in this strange and hostile place, he's probably trying his best just to find me.

I can't let him down by giving up. Not yet.

I may never get out, but I won't give up on him.

I can't.

I owe him at least that much for all that he's done for me and for what I've put him through.

--------

Another week has passed by, or at least I think it's a week.

It could be a month or even two. Keeping track of the time in here is hard.

All I have to go on is the number of times I've been dragged out of my cell to another session of pain and fear.

This combined with my times of light sleep and unconsciousness makes out pretty much of my life now.

I don't think I've dreamt anything good since I first was placed on the straining chair in that room.

The dark eco still burns worse than any fire or other torture they can think up for me, but weirdly enough it still hasn't killed me.

What surprises me even more is that each time it takes a little more exposure before I pass out.

It's as if my body's slowly adjusting it self to the eco intruding my system.

But I still can't do anything but scream. And I can't remember the last time I actually lived through an entire day without this pain.

My wounds are starting to cover up more of my body than my skin.

The first three times they exposed me to the dark light, my wounds seemed to never wanna' close.

I didn't heal like I should and somehow that disappointed Errol.

But then something changed.

After the fourth time I woke up realising I wasn't bleeding at all.

Since then my healing has been rapid in comparison to the ordinary. And as much as it hurts, the exposure to the dark eco somehow doesn't knock me out cold in the same way as before.

The baron Praxis has been visiting each session since the change started.

And though there's no mistake on who enjoys these moments the most between him and Errol, it's not Errol who decides to go on or to turn up the power a notch more for each session.

Praxis is the one guilty for me being in here, at least that's the conclusion I've come to after listening to the conversations between him and Errol.

There's something else as well.

I can feel it inside of me every time I start to even think about getting angry with this whole situation.

There's this uncontrollable something, like rage, that screams to get out of me.

I can't remember ever feeling like that before. As much as it scares me when it comes forth, at the same time I welcome it.

It's like another part of me, that's been locked up for way too long, finally has found the strength to break lose. And with it comes strength.

The last time the guards came to get me I was waiting for them right by the door.

The first one who stepped inside I quickly knocked to the floor with one single blow in the solar plexus.

I actually made a dent in his armour.

The second guy fumbled with his electric shocker and I took him down as well in a matter of mere seconds. And then I started running before they had the chance to sound the alarm.

As the siren went off in the entire building, I tried to find a way out by running past all of the familiar corridors and taking routs I hadn't been on before, figuring that it might actually lead me to a door or window of some sort that would take me outside.

I could almost sense the freedom coming at me with each turn that I took without running into a guard.

But just as I was starting to feel certain I was going to make it, a group of no less than six guards came in my way.

Electric shockers ready and guns loaded, they formed a circle around me as I stopped.

I fought like a crazed animal, ignoring the electric shocks they shot at me and dodging the few bullets fired in order to scare me off.

I bit, clawed and hit everything that moved. I think I even knocked about three or four of them out cold, before they finally managed to get behind me and hit me hard in the back of my head.

When I woke up I was back in the cell with two guards posted outside of it.

And I've been shackled.

I can't get any closer than two arms' lengths to the door.

As much as it pisses me off, it's starting to effect me that I can't move freely, not even inside of this one place that I've started to think of as my "safe zone".

I admit that I'm starting to lose more than my memory.

I just don't know how to stop my self from breaking apart a little piece at a time with every passing moment in this state of despair I'm in. All that I've tried has failed.

But as the door opens slowly and I warily look upon the guards entering with the shockers at a ready, I know that there's one thing I still haven't done that might work.

My throat is sore from screaming, but I think I still can manage to produce some sort of sound apart from those screams, and by the precursors, I will try.

I don't try to fight the guards as they free me from the chains keeping me to the cell and changes them for another pair, intending to stop me from doing anything else but walking in the pointed out direction.

I notice that there are six guards taking me to the session this time.

They've obviously learned from the last time's mistake and intend to not tempt me into trying for a new escape.

These guards are new. They don't know me, but I can sense their fear.

I don't know how or why, but I can smell it.

They're afraid of me.

It's probably because they've heard of what happened the last time.

Not that I blame them though.

I did make some dents in that precious armour they're wearing and that alone sure must make me look a little bit dangerous, despite the fact that I don't reach any higher up than chest level on most of them.

Errol is in a dark mood this time.

He doesn't smile as he usually does when seeing me brought in.

I wonder why.

The guards stops and before I know it, I feel a hard edge making contact with the back of my head, all turns dark for a moment and when I wake up, I'm back in the chair, looking up at the monstrous machine of my recent nightmares.

Great.

Not a glimpse of a chance to utter even the slightest of protest against this treatment.

Errol's face comes close up and I can sense the held back frustration he feels while looking at me.

I stare back, silently, waiting for him to say the first word.

I need him to ask me a question, something to answer to.

I've never been this motivated to actually form a word as I am right now, but I need him to ask for it.

If I say anything without his permission I'm afraid he'll simply see it as another way of defying him.

And I don't want that.

I want freedom, if not from the prison, then from these sessions.

"So, you've developed some nerve, huh kid?" he finally says and slaps me across the face with the back of his hand.

It stings a bit, but it doesn't hurt.

He's just trying to get my attention. Well, mission achieved.

"You really thought you could get out of here without my permission, now did you?"

Still not a straight out question. I keep quiet.

"But know this, boy, in here, I decide who lives and dies and I decide when and how. No matter how strong you think you are, you will never be able to change that."

He reaches out and I close my eyes thinking he'll hit me again and preparing for the blow, but instead he simply takes a gentle hold of my chin.

The mere surprise of this act makes me open my eyes to look at him.

He tugs lightly in the hairs of a beard I haven't realised I have grown.

My confusion seems to amuse him.

"Do you even know how long you've been here, boy?"

He apparently reads the answer in my eyes as I look at him and he starts to smile.

"You don't. Well, for old times sake, I'll let you know that it's been just about two years now."

I can't help showing the shock this information brings me.

Two years?

_Years_?

How long can a small animal survive in a strange place…?

The thought comes unwanted and I can't get it out of my mind.

Errol sees my reaction and his smile widens.

"I see," he says and lets go of my chin.

"Now, is there something you want to tell me, boy?"

I don't care whether or not I get humiliated by doing it, this is a straight question and I have to take this chance.

I try to clear my soar throat and Errol lifts one of his eyebrows slightly higher than the other.

"What was that?" he asks me and obviously strains himself not to laugh out loud at his triumph.

"You want to tell me something, boy? Then start with your name and I might just feel ready to listen."

This is as good a chance I'll ever get and I know it.

I silently shape the word I want to say inside my head, make my lips move as they should when pronouncing it and so I add sound.

"J-Jak," I manage to whisper with a slight stutter.

My voice sounds unfamiliar, untried, unused.

But I actually manage to feel a little bit proud of my first try ever to speak.

Errol actually look surprised for a moment, not seeming to believe what he heard.

"Come again?"

This time my voice is stronger and I feel more confident that I'll be able to do it, so I answer a bit steadier than before.

"My na-name, is, Jak."

The look on Errol's face is almost priceless.

I start feeling this might actually work, but then he gets himself together and the smile is back on his lips.

A shiver of fear runs down my spine.

"Oh, really? Now that didn't hurt much, did it, _Jak_?"

Hearing my name from his mouth, pronounced like it was something worth even less than the indefinable mash of goo flowing in the water pools in the lower tunnels of this building, it makes me regret I ever said it.

But I did say it.

I actually spoke, but I'm starting to wonder why.

The look in Errol's eyes scares me even more than before.

"I bet you're thinking I'll let you go now that you've done what I asked you to do, don't you?"

Every muscle in my body suddenly tenses as my final hope fades away by the second.

"Guess again, boy. I do whatever I want to do with you until Praxis tells me otherwise. And guess what, Jak?"

He makes a pause and comes up close to my face, close enough for me to smell his breath, but not close enough for me to be able to reach up and bite his nose off.

He knows I'm clinging to every word he says.

"I'm never letting your pretty face get away from me if I can prevent it," he whispers with a malevolent voice and eyes sparkling of excitement as he looks into my eyes, searching for the response he wants from me.

I feel some sort of rage building up inside of me, like I want to break lose and just smell…blood.

The moment I realise this strange wish of mine, something snaps deep within me.

And I want to curse every single action that led to this situation, with me in this chair in front of _him_, to be at the mercy of _him_.

Because he sees it in my eyes or in my face, maybe he reads it in my silence or in my dropped jaw.

And he smiles even more.

An image of evil pleasure as pure malice shines through his whole appearance when he slowly backs away from me.

And I know what's coming.

I know it, and I can't stop it from coming, but I don't want it.

As he starts to chuckle and turns around to start walking towards the place with the controls, I try hard to find the words to stop him, to make this nightmare end somehow.

"N-no…" I stutter.

I can't stop shaking where I lie and my voice shakes as well as my body, but Errol stopped as he heard me, so I cling to the small, as good as nonexistent light of hope this brings me.

I try again.

"No…p-please…"

The last word comes out as nothing more but a fading whisper and I feel like I'm about to cry, because my pleading only seems to have pleased him even more and he walks away.

The moment the machine starts turning above me, I feel like I'm losing the very last piece of who I am and I give in to the fear and feelings of endless misery that comes down on me like a flood.

Only a short moment after I give up, the dark light fills my vision and pain takes the place of any other feeling I'm able to produce.

I scream until I can't get any sound out and keep on screaming silently in my head with my mouth wide open, desperately wanting to force myself into stop breathing, but unable to do so simply because the pain keeps me aware of my lungs equally desperate want for air.

This time I'm still somewhat conscious when the beam of eco stops forcing itself upon my body.

There's a ringing in my ears, my head is spinning and I feel paralysed all over by the stinging sensations left by the torment I recently went through.

My eyes are clouded and I can almost feel how bleeding wounds cover the inside of my throat.

"Well Jak," I hear Errol say somewhere close," as interesting as this was, I do have other duties on my schedule, so I'll have to leave you for now. But I'll be back, trust me."

His voice comes close to my ear.

A faint tingle on the skin tells me his mouth is right next to me, his breath making the weakened senses react.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he whispers just barely audible through the ringing still blocking out most of my hearing.

But I hear his words and I hear the tone of pleasure taken in his voice.

I shiver.

I can't stop shivering even after he's gone and the guards come forward taking off the restraints.

I don't fight back.

I don't have the strength and I don't have the will needed.

What's the point anyway? I'll never get away from him.

I'll never be free from Praxis' prison or Errol's sessions of torture.

I know this and I have given up trying to find anything light in these surroundings.

'Cause I know I won't find it anyway.

-------------

I can hear Praxis talking somewhere above me.

Errol is with him.

But I can't even manage to care about what they're saying.

Probably something about how they can intensify the eco-charges even more or something else that will bring me pain.

I can feel that the wounds that were given to me on my chest before this session are already healing.

My skin is tingling as it starts to wrap itself over the opened areas, aided by the dark eco that's infected my blood and flesh.

It seems to stay inside me after entering and even though I can't understand why, it somehow makes me feel, well not good, but better than I'd expected.

Something in Praxis' change of tone in his voice tells me he's somewhat upset.

I can smell his disappointment.

I think it's because of me he's in this mood.

Good.

At least I can make him feel bad, no matter the reason.

If I could do it, I would smile, just to show him that he's not the only one taking pleasure in other people's pain.

OK, maybe I don't feel joy all over because of it, but it somehow eases the melancholy a bit.

I try to open my eyes but can only produce some sort of half way lifting of my eyelids, and the small spring of vision this gives me is still blurred.

I can hear someone leaving and by the heaviness of the steps my guess is that it's Praxis.

Errol comes up close to me, lifts me up a bit by the neck of my shirt so that I can feel his breath on my face.

"I'll be back later," he says.

I can tell there's something different about him.

Like he was smelling blood and couldn't wait to throw himself on the opportunity to get drenched in it.

And no matter how much I fear and dislike him, I know that this is something new.

In other words, my guess is I'm about to get some very much unpleasant treatment, probably resulting in death.

I can hear Errol leave and run after Praxis.

The guards move along with him, probably thinking I'm not much of a threat where I am at the moment.

I haven't broke free from the chair yet, so yes, I guess they're right in that assumption.

I'm starting to feel the familiar drowsiness of unconsciousness coming over me, but somehow I try to keep it away this time.

I don't quite know why really, but there's something about the way Errol sounded when he assured his return.

A sound on my left side tells me I'm not alone anymore.

Shit.

Someone's talking.

The voice sounds familiar in some way, but I can't place it.

I guess it's one of the guards or perhaps one of my earlier tormentors, the ones taking care of my stay at this place before Errol took over.

He sure talks a lot, seems agitated by something.

Beats me what it is, but I don't really care.

A small weight is roughly placed on my stomach, moving up to my chest.

The guy is still talking, and I suddenly realise he's talking to me.

I try opening my eyes again, but I can't focus on anything and so I close them again.

The weight on my chest is making it a little harder to breathe properly, though, and it starts to annoy me.

So, when the ever talking guy starts shaking my head about, I feel like I want to slap him silly.

As the rage races through my veins I finally get my full hearing back and I manage to understand the words shoved in my face.

"SAY SOMETHING! JUST THIS ONCE!"

That does it.

Every single part of me starts burning with a new sensation of pure hatred and rage, feelings I've locked up inside behind the melancholy and depression felt on the outside, ever since Errol proved my final hope to be shattered.

In an instant I feel very much awake and as I open my eyes to face this annoying new enemy I shout out the very words I've been harbouring in my heart for a long time now.

"I'M GONNA' KILL PRAXIS!"

No stuttering this time.

I don't mean to beg for mercy this time, so screw the weakness.

The talking guy shuts my mouth up, sounding a bit nervous, but I don't care to listen to what he's saying.

I don't even think I'd be able to understand him if I wanted to.

Something is growing inside and as my blood runs faster through my veins I feel something changing rapidly, almost like my body is exploding.

It hurts.

It hurts a lot even.

But not as much as Errol's torturing, so, I don't care about it.

My vision turns darker and everything around me is given a deep shade of purple colouring.

I don't know how or what's happening, but it makes my vision clearer.

And then this sudden strength fills me up and I break lose from the restraints just as easy as if they'd been made of nothing but spider web.

All I feel is rage.

Pure, dark rage from the most inner part of my body and soul and out.

Nothing matters except the rage and to silence it. And it craves for blood.

The blood of my enemies.

I want to feel flesh being torn beneath my claws, I wanna' rip up their throats with my fangs! I wanna' make them pay for this pain!

A movement somewhere beside me catches my eye and I turn towards it.

An enemy!

I need to tear him apart!

Suddenly I realise he's very small.

The raging monster woken up inside tells me not to bother about it.

But then I realise he's talking.

Just before I'm about to obey the bloodthirsty beast controlling me, I hear something that makes me stumble back in pure shock.

"JAK IT'S ME! DAXTER!"

A tidal wave of memories long forgotten flush through my mind and I finally recognise the voice and the face of the small orange animal in front of me.

"Daxter?"

Still doubting he's really there, I stagger backwards and the rage is gone even faster than it came, being replaced with doubt and fear for what could have happened, had I not stopped myself in time.

"Phew, remind me not to piss _you_ off," my friend says, as if he'd never been in danger at all.

Just as fast as always to stabilise himself from any sort of shocking experience, the small fuzzy animal I've been longing to see for only the precursors know how long a time, slightly brushes off some invisible dust from his arms and walks up to me with a smile on his face.

Somewhere in my state of confusion I try to remind myself to thank him properly as soon as I get my act together enough to talk again.

I feel ready to cry with joy over seeing him alive and I wish for him to never stop talking, so that I'll never feel alone again.

I let him guide me through the dark room and I know that from this moment on, I will never leave his side again.

I owe him my life and I intend to pay him back every day for as long as we both shall live.

I believe that together, we'll be able to do just about anything.

And no matter what anyone says or have said in the past, I'm not the strong one.

I'm not the hero. He is.


End file.
